


Rabid

by Anchanted_One



Series: Tales from The Old Republic [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Do not post to another site without permission, Gen, Jedi Knight during his months under the Emperor's Control, SWTOR, Star Wars - Freeform, The old Republic - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24984238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anchanted_One/pseuds/Anchanted_One
Summary: Baras was... em-baras-sed that Kai'rene saw him reduced to such a pitiful state, even though it seemed so necessary at the time. It was largely this that made him decide to kill her off at the start of Sith Warrior Chapter 3.Trykhgar would disappear after eight months of carnage without a trace (another reason Baras felt okay with disposing of a 'weapon' like Kai'rene), and it is believed that the Emperor himself grew afraid of his monster slipping the leash and turning on him. Today, most believe that this creature was destroyed. Only a few know the truth, that Trykhgar was really the Jedi Knight Arro, who would go on to challenge the Emperor again, this time prevailing.Also, yes; Arro really is that much better than Kai'rene but has never shown it to her both because he is afraid of being found out and because he never needed to bring his full might down on her. He would never again show the same skill he did as when he was Lord Trykhgar. He is also better suited by far to be a Darksider than a Jedi.
Series: Tales from The Old Republic [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1257356
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	Rabid

* * *

**Dromund Kaas** **  
** **The Chambers of Darth Vengean**

Kai’rene stepped into the cell after Reaching out with the Force to ensure that there was no one waiting to ambush her. She normally had one of her friends close by for backup, but this time she was up against a Dark Councillor and she had no desire to endanger any of them. In fact, she had issued secret orders for Vette and Jaesa to disappear should anything happen to her, and had contingency reassignments on standby for Quinn and Pierce. She had even asked for Broonmark to be given safe passage to Rishi, though she wasn’t comfortable around the debased killer.

Thus bereft of her usual backup in particularly dangerous territory, she felt exposed. She dearly hoped that this Lord Draahg would make up for that lack. When she first laid eyes on Baras’ agent she wasn’t disappointed. He looked muscular and Felt strong in the Force. He was presently so weakened by torture that he was held upright only by his restraints, but her Master had assured her that the chemical he had provided would completely revitalize him.

Even so, she felt deeply relieved when the drug did its trick.

“Ahhh! Good, you’re awake already!” 

By way of response he coughed and heaved, vomiting onto the filthy floor. Kai’rene was surprised that he was in the state to keep his bile away from her boots; not that she felt particularly attached to this particular pair. She had expected to walk into a messy room and dressed accordingly, with spare clothes in her pack for when she left this wing of the citadel.

She waited for the man to slowly regain his feet, then favoured him with a small smile.

“Our Master sent me. My name is Kai’rene, his chief enforcer.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” he said, his answering smile bright as Life-Day fireworks. “I am so grateful, to you and to Baras. I look forward to serving him directly, adn to working with you. I have heard so much about you, of course! Your exploits are nothing short of thrilling!”

Kai’rene didn’t buy his camaraderie; he had successfully played a Dark Councillor for a fool for over a decade. Of course he was a brilliant actor. While his act might be as earnest as it looked, she held no illusions that he was not above using honest respect to lower her defenses for the inevitable day of reckoning. No doubt he would also be far stronger than he let on today, but she had no choice but to make do.

“We don’t have a lot of time. Do you think you will be up for a fight with someone like Vengean?”

“Can you give me a few minutes to recover?” He asked. “And to clean myself up, too if you’re feeling generous; I’d rather not fight him covered in my own vomit.”

“No problem,” Kai’rene answered. “I would say ‘Take your time,’ but…”

“Yeah I know. Time is against us.”

Kai’rene gave him his precious time. She waited patiently outside the showers for him. And when he emerged, offered him the bowl of steaming hot corn-and-chicken soup she had whipped up for him. “Go on. You’ll need something hot before we do this.”

“Thank you,” he accepted it eagerly and drank as fast as he dared. “Mmmm! This is good!”

“I’d love to claim credit, but I ordered the droid there to fix it up for you. I’m bad at this kind of thing.”

“Mmmh,” he said again, mind entirely on the food. He tossed the empty bowl aside when he was finished then waited for the warmth to spread. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” he said after a few minutes.

Kai’rene exhaled with a  _ whoosh _ and bounced on the balls of her feet as she straightened. It was time then—

But then the siren began. A very specific, rarely used whalesong warble, and it blasted thrice through the speakers, as it would have through every loudspeaker in the Empire. This particular signal, almost legendary thanks to its last recorded use being decades ago, notified the citizens that an emergency, televised session of the Dark Council had been called by the Emperor himself. It would begin an hour after the last notes of the siren died away.

Kai’rene and Draahg shared deeply incredulous, concerned looks.  _ What now? _

* * *

Darth Baras was not a man who enjoyed sudden wildcard entries on the board. He loved planning years ahead, moving each of his pieces ever so subtly that when he struck at last the odds would be heavily stacked in his favor. He had plotted years for his chance to net his seat on the Dark Council. He had woven each strand of the noose around Vengean’s neck one tiny fiber at a time, and tightened it so slowly that he never saw it coming until it was already too late.

But now out of nowhere that cord was in danger of being severed, and another one fashioned around his own neck. The Emperor had called an emergency—and broadcasted—session of the Council. He had been a much younger man when it had last happened, on the day the Emperor had demanded that the Empire prepare for all-out war against the hated and unsuspecting Republic.

What could be about to unfold now? For even if it didn’t involve Vengean, certainly its ripples would affect his best-laid of plans.

And so Baras sweated and paced. 

He had ordered his apprentices to retreat with all haste. He might yet need them. If things came to the worst case, he would have to flee to the Republic. To offer up all of his many secrets in exchange for asylum. The thought made his stomach spin like a Nautolan Dancer’s tentacles. It didn’t help dreading that even such a drastic measure might not save him.

Each second tormented him, tore away at his confidence. As the hour approached he became progressively less composed. He had dismissed everyone except his apprentice, for he feared he would need her protection. He feared it so much that when the broadcast began he almost wet himself.

An image of the Dark Council Chambers on Dromund Kaas appeared on the screen, on every screen throughout the Empire. Baras frowned. All Councillors except Darth Vengean were attending remotely. That seemed highly significant, since Darths Ravage, Rictus, and Acharon were also here in the Citadel.

The holo of a shrouded figure appeared on the Throne. The Emperor.

As one, the Council rose and knelt before him. “O Great and All-Powerful Emperor,” they intoned. “We are humbled by your presence.”

The shrouded head nodded, a chuckle emanating from the void within them. “Rise, my friends. And sit, all but you, my dear Darth Vengean. Please step to the center of the room.”

Baras’ Master did as he was bid. Baras did not know what he was thinking; his face was as impassive as a durasteel mountain.

“I am deeply disappointed in you, my friend,” the voice said sadly. “Deeply. You have allowed your weakness to be telecast on a grand scale at Quesh. If not for your…  _ faithful _ apprentice, your efforts to destroy the last of the War Trust would have ended in abject failure.”

Again Vengean did not respond. His expression did not change, his deep voice did not ring out to defend himself against these accusations. No one spoke out of turn with the Emperor. Not even the most arrogant Sith. 

Baras felt deeply grateful he did not have to be present there—in person or otherwise—for being mentioned by the Emperor brought down mountains of dread upon his shoulders. He had no doubt that it was intentional; the Emperor  _ wanted _ his attention. Whatever happened here would decide his fate.

And there was nothing he could do about it. His trembling got worse, and he sobbed like a blubbering child.

“All is not bleak for you, however! Rejoice! For I am about to offer you one final—and very public—chance. A simple task. Succeed, and I will protect you from all your enemies amongst the Sith. You will even be elevated above your current peak, the Greatest of the Dark Council.”

“I stand ready, my Master,” Vengean said, head bowed.

The doors parted and a cage hovered into the Council chambers, followed by a weedy Pureblood servant in hooded robes of red and black. In it was a prone form of something vaguely humanoid and wearing a twisted suit of blood-red armor that appeared almost organic. The caged being was masked, its gauntleted hands appeared like claws. It was also chained, and a particularly large shock collar was placed around its throat. The little skin that was visible appeared to be black and grey as though smeared with ash.

“This is Lord Trykhgar,” the Emperor gestured. “He is… special to me. A new experiment.”

He snapped his fingers and the shock collar visibly thrummed. The one known as Lord Trykhgar awoke with a pained howl and promptly began to seethe with rage. He attempted violently to free himself from the heavy shackles on his wrists, shrieking and roaring like a mad beast. His efforts seemed in vain until suddenly they were not; the chains tore themselves free of the cage floor and Trykhgar now focussed his efforts on the cage’s bars, mightily applying all of his strength to the durasteel rods, determinedly breaking open his prison through brute strength alone, a strength that belied his average size and build.

Like the shackles before, the bars yielded to his strength.

“Your task: Kill him.” Vengean turned his gaze upon the beast in surprise and grinned toothily. Baras groaned once more and began to sob harder.

* * *

Darth Vengean stood before the beast, who was moments from tearing out the bars to his cage. Strong. But feral, mad. He would have no problem defeating such an unfocussed foe. 

Deep, delicious relish poured throughout his veins. So all he had to do was kill this… thing?... and he would have the Emperor’s own protection. He could already taste his victory—not against this unknown raving lunatic, but against his treacherous apprentice. He decided that he would force Baras to eat his own guts.

The servant produced the black hilt of a lightsaber. He placed it on the floor, and hurried out. Trykhgar seemed to notice the movement and grew silent. He reached out a hand; the hilt soared into his palm. Then he seemed to remember the Force; with a mighty roar he Pushed out in all directions and the cage exploded.

“Prove your superiority against my new… beast."

Vengean turned to his opponent, this… no-name Sith Lord. He—or rather  _ it _ —was a strange contradiction. He growled and howled and drooled like a mad dog, saliva oozing out from underneath his mask. Such a disgusting, savage freak!

And yet he had evidently remembered how to hold himself as a warrior; below his frothing chin, his body was perfectly balanced and infinitely patient in his study of his opponent. He stood relaxed and held his now-lit lightsaber like a man born with one in his hand.

He held an unorthodox guard, but his limbs seemed eased with the familiarity of the stance—a familiarity born from years and perhaps decades of practice. 

Vengean frowned and reevaluated his opponent slightly. No-name perhaps, but not unschooled. Perhaps even dangerous, however little that danger might be. He should have realized it at the very start; the Emperor wouldn’t waste time unless there was something of note with this one.

He was glad he had reevaluated, for the Lord seemed to have found what he was waiting for and attacked. The strikes were all a blur. They were elegant, precise, confident, and powerful. Not a hint of that charming personality was reflected in his form.

It was all Vengean could do to defend himself, but his enemy’s offensive was unrelenting. With each second the speed increased, until Vengean was barely holding off maybe twenty strikes per second. And despite the violent snarls, his enemy’s body language hummed a different tune; it was warming up. Toying with him. And relishing in the skewed mismatch.

Then the blade sped up again—at perhaps thirty strikes per second. Vengean uttered a choked cry before he could stop himself and clumsily tried to fall back. His lightsaber was knocked out of his grip, and he stumbled over his own feet, landing on his backside. He held up his empty hands defensively as his enemy crowed in triumph… but did not attack.

He gestured with his blade slightly, indicating the lightsaber which was still rolling on the other side of the room. The intention was obvious.

Humiliated and enraged, Vengean snarled and Summoned his blade back. He charged recklessly, immersing himself to the very depths of his rage and shame, squeezing forth every ounce of power the Dark Side could afford him.

He channeled the Force as he never had before; Fortifying his body, Ripping out the heavy stone seats and statues and Hurling them with all his might at the waiting Sith, Tossing heavy balls of dense Force Lightning, rapidly weaving his body through the forms as he brought to bear the decades of experience he had with his own saber.

His combat style had been honed to what he thought was near-perfection after having carved his way through a veritable canyon of Jedi and Sith.

He had been wrong. He was far outclassed by this upstart, who avoided his attacks with painful ease. He always seemed to disappear as the attacks with furniture or Lightning reached him, appearing dozens of feet to the side. His blade cleaved through the lightning again and again, redirecting the blast away from himself.

His superb bladework easily found gaps in Vengean’s defenses, deliberately avoiding truly harming him in favor of enjoying his exertion longer.

Repeatedly, Vengean found himself beaten; his blade knocked out of his hand, his legs swept out from under him, his enemy’s blade held at his throat or face. Then, suddenly, he tired of this game and destroyed Vengean’s hilt. 

The Darth screamed in pain and fell onto the floor yet again. But Trykhgar was not done. Stowing his own saber, he instead Summoned two twisted rods that had been part of his cage, and tossed one to Vengean.

He snarled and waited for Vengean to pick it up; the Councillor was trembling—more terrified than he was angry by this point. The outcome of this match had been clear in the first minutes of this pointless spectacle. Everything since had been the lithe creature’s desire for thrills.

And this new game was the same. Metal rods wouldn’t cripple or kill an enemy outright even if they struck vital areas. This one wanted to  _ beat _ him thoroughly.

And he did. Vengean howled repeatedly as the metal struck his arms, smacked his face, cracked against his shoulders.

Finally, he could take it no more. He fell weeping to the floor, bloodied, bruised, and broken.

With Vengean now utterly defeated, Trykhgar wasted no more time. Faster than thought he drew, attacked, and resheathed his lightsaber and Vengean’s head dropped on the floor staring uncomprehendingly at his body lying a few feet away.

* * *

In the innermost sanctum of his chambers, Baras watched the very public execution. A part of him realised that Vengean had lost; and that he had himself been thus spared.

The Council Chamber door opened again and an armored giant walked in, his footfalls remarkably soft for one of his bulk. A single glance was enough to tell Baras who this was; the feared Emperor’s Wrath. His deadliest weapon.

Trykhgar was too preoccupied to notice this new threat; for the second Vengean had been executed, the shock collar around his neck had reactivated. It was even louder than before and Baras almost winced in sympathy for the animal who was slowly shocked unconscious.

The Wrath loomed over the fallen man. “Look at what you have become,” he said. There was some pity in his eyes. “Feral. Bestial. Grotesque. You should never have defied my Master. I hope you are satisfied with the outcome of your foolish challenge.”

The message was clear. Perhaps not to the beast knocked out on the floor, but to everyone watching—and right now, that was the entire Empire. Neither treachery nor incompetence was tolerated when playing on this scale.

“Such a disappointment,” The Emperor shook his head, laughing and clapping cruelly. “Poor poor Vengean. You were even less of a match than I thought you would be. 

“This is what I wished to present to you, to all of you. My new Monster. Unlike Lord Scourge, he is of no concern to Me. Less than a passing fancy. As one who tried to challenge me, his life is forfeit. But he is an interesting one, is he not? That raw skill… if he had bided his time, struck more wisely, he may have even succeeded in overthrowing me. Instead he is left more deranged hound than man. A waste to kill him outright. I plan to unleash him upon my enemies from time to time, both on the battlefield and right here at home. He may rampage and kill whoever he wants during his excursions… and anyone who wants is just as free to take action. To stop his warpath without fear of My retribution. I say to you all; have at him! The one that finally kills him will be rewarded beyond their wildest dreams! But do try to remember how  _ deadly _ he is. I look forward to the games!”

With that, the feed ended.

Baras was silent. “Kai’rene,” he called—only realizing much later that he had called her by name. “This Lord, this Trykhgar. Fancy your chances against him?”

“No, it just can’t be done,” she said bluntly. Her voice… rather than fear and unease, it sounded… Envious. Awed. “This one is too dangerous, even for me. If I ever get in his sights, I’ll turn and run as fast as my legs can carry me.”

Baras heaved a sigh. He had feared as much. Not even his own deadliest weapon dreamed of a chance against that… thing. The Emperor had found himself a singularly vicious tool. And while he had invited his subjects to destroy it, today’s demonstration would make even the boldest Sith  _ very _ hesitant to engage him.

He might have to abandon his plans.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Baras was... em-baras-sed that Kai'rene saw him reduced to such a pitiful state, even though it seemed so necessary at the time. It was largely this that made him decide to kill her off at the start of Sith Warrior Chapter 3.  
> Trykhgar would disappear after eight months of carnage without a trace (another reason Baras felt okay with disposing of a 'weapon' like Kai'rene), and it is believed that the Emperor himself grew afraid of his monster slipping the leash and turning on him. Today, most believe that this creature was destroyed. Only a few know the truth, that Trykhgar was really the Jedi Knight Arro, who would go on to challenge the Emperor again, this time prevailing.  
> Also, yes; Arro really is that much better than Kai'rene but has never shown it to her both because he is afraid of being found out and because he never needed to bring his full might down on her. He would never again show the same skill he did as when he was Lord Trykhgar. He is also better suited by far to be a Darksider than a Jedi.


End file.
